Sonya's Epilogue
by Josephine Falnor
Summary: Sonya's point of view on what was the last few pages of "Crime and Punishment," regarding Raskolnikov. One-shot.


_**Author's Note:**_

_**So, this is a result of the fact that I finished reading "Crime and Punishment" a couple weeks ago. I actually wrote this within 24 hours of finishing that book, but it took me until now to get it typed up.**_

_**Anyways, this is basically a retelling of the last two or so pages of the second epilogue of the book. In short, it's about after Raskolnikov is in Siberia. Sonya goes to see him while he's working, but then he gets sick, and ends up in the hospital there. She's not allowed to see him inside, so she stands where she can see his room window from outside. She ends up getting sick too, and by the time Raskolnikov is well, she's too sick to see him. He eventually finds out she's sick, and later on, he receives a letter from her. At the end, she's well, and she goes to see him, and he starts sobbing.**_

_**In short, I didn't come up with this, and I don't own "Crime and Punishment." This is totally just me having fun with writing from Sonya's perspective. Also, I've only read the book once, so if I got any facts wrong or something, forgive me...  
**_

_**Anyways, I apologize if my writing is weird in this. It's not really my usual style, I don't think. It was mainly for my own entertainment and experimentation purposes. Please review and let me know what you think! ^_^

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At times, I believe that I'm a fool. To leave my home, wretched as it was, and everything else I was familiar with seems at times to be nothing more than a foolish mistake.

Of course, an action like that cannot automatically be deemed a mistake. A person must consider the reasons such an action was carried out. For that reason, I must explain the motivation behind my actions.

I left my home in Saint Petersburg to come out to this frozen wasteland because of _him_. As a murderer, he was exiled to Siberia. I had nothing to do with the crime, however, so I have no legal reason to be here. I could leave at any time, and no one would think any less of me.

I had every reason to leave when I was ill. I couldn't even go to see him, thanks to being weakened by illness. Considering that I am only here to see him, when times arise in which I cannot see him, I have even less reason to stay.

I can't leave though, for I know that if I were to leave for any reason, I would not return. Even if I were gone for no more than a week, or even no more than a day, I would not come back. A trip back towards home on the train would be the end of this.

If I were to leave, and never again see him, how would he respond to that? It's quite possible that he truly wouldn't care. After all, the last several times I've seen him, he had hardly acknowledged me with a glance. With that being the case, it would be foolish to even entertain the idea that he and I had talked to each other on those occasions.

Of course, he proceeded to fall ill, and after that, visiting him became all but impossible. The most I could do was go to look through the window of his hospital room from a distance. For one brief moment, the last time I went to the gate, I saw his face. It didn't last long though. Only a few seconds passed before he moved away from the window.

I waited a few moments more, hoping he'd come back to the window, but the frozen wind finally became too much for me, and I was forced to go back to my house. I wanted so badly to see him again, but life is rarely so kind as to give us what we want, even if it's something as simple as a glimpse of a single person.

Life was crueler still. Even as I first set foot in my house, I could tell I wasn't going to be well much longer. My throat was already beginning to tighten, and it was too painful for me to get down more than water for dinner.

By the next morning, it was worse. Even standing up became a chore, and the action caused my head to ache, which, in time, made my legs weak.

I wanted so badly to go see him. Just to look in his window, even if I knew he wouldn't notice me, or, if by some chance, he did notice, he would pretend that he hadn't.

My own will and desire were in no way enough to make me strong enough to do what I wanted. I could hardly get to the stove for tea; to get to the door, much less the hospital, was impossible.

During the next few days, I stayed there, praying that God would help us both recover. However, other thoughts came to my mind as well. Perhaps he no longer wished to see me. It was possible that he had decided that he would rather finish out his sentence alone, without me going to see him.

I was deeply immersed in these thoughts when I heard someone knocking at my door. As foolish and hopeful as I was, the first thought that came to me was that _he_ had come to see me, to see if I was alright, no, to _make certain_ that I was alright.

Of course, it didn't take me that long to realize that I was insane to even consider that as a possibility. He was incarcerated. He would not be allowed to come see me, not even if he wanted to.

This realization caused me to walk across the last half of my house even slower than I would have otherwise. I know I must have looked terribly disappointed to the poor soul standing on the other side of my doorframe.

I invited him in, not wanting to leave the door open any longer than was necessary, and offered to get him a cup of the weak tea on the stove. He accepted, so I got us both a cup, before going to sit at the table with him.

He didn't waste time in telling me that he'd been sent by one of the convicts. While he didn't know the name of the man who had sent him, he told me that the man in question had been extremely worried. Hearing that made me smile a little. I knew it was him, and if he was worried, it meant he really did want me there.

The man left shortly after promising to tell him that I hadn't been able to visit because I had taken ill. I went to sleep that night happy, thankful to know he still wanted to see me.

I had hoped that the knowledge that he wanted to see me would help me recover faster. I wanted to see him so badly… Even so, days continued to pass, and while I felt better than I had a week earlier, I knew I couldn't go to see him yet. It was so cold outside, and if I got sick again, I knew it would take far longer to recover.

I wanted to tell him that I was getting better, and that I would come to see him as soon as I could. I wanted to assure him that I wanted to be with him. Unfortunately, I had no way of contacting him.

I spent the next few days willing myself to get better. I had to recover so I could see him.

I was pulled from my thoughts, the first I'd heard from in days. I pulled the door open, and my visitor asked if I was Sofya Semenovna. I responded that I was, and he said that he'd been asked to see if I was recovered yet. I quickly asked if he'd been sent by one of the convicts, and he had replied that he had.

Without offering him a chair, or a drink, I hurried as fast as I could to find a piece of paper and a pen. I found a scrap to write on, and a pencil, then went to sit at the table to write. My guest looked at me curiously, but stayed quiet, and allowed me to pen my note.

As soon as I finished, I sealed the note, and offered it to the man. I asked him to give it to the man who had sent him. He agreed and left, disappearing into the white snow.

A week later, I was finally well enough to go see him where he was working. I left my little house, wrapping myself in my green shawl as I started to make my way to where I knew he'd be working that day.

I could see him sitting with his back to me, so I walked up to stand next to him. He turned to look at me, and just seeing his face again made me smile. I knew I was still a bit ill, but seeing him again made me feel completely healed.

I reached a hand out, hoping he'd take it. Despite knowing that he really had been worried about me, enough to send two people to see how I was doing, I still worried that he might prefer that I left.

Just as I started to draw my hand back, he reached for it, holding it in his own. I fully expected him to let go after a few seconds, but he didn't. Instead, his grip tightened.

In only a second, he fell to the ground, and clutched my knees as he began to sob. At first, I was terrified, and I dropped to the ground, trying to understand what had happened to make him weep.

I realized thought that he was not crying out of sadness; rather, he was crying out of his love for me, a love which he had finally come to realize.

I smiled, almost laughing as I started to cry, happy to no longer fear that he didn't love me as I loved him. Knowing that, I finally felt like I was truly meant to be with him.

It had long been my intention to live with Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, through whatever he had to do, however long he needed to do it for.

I want to stay with him to care for him, since I know he really does need someone. Eventually when his sentence ends, he'll be able to move on, and I'll be right here, ready to go with him.


End file.
